Hashbrowns & Hissy Fits

Breakfast, Bourdain, & Bruised Egos (Comedy Mindhacks #4)

There are only a few places on earth where everything feels right, perhaps what the Irish call thin places, places where you almost can’t tell the earthly from the divine. Photographer Chris Arnade contends that Waffle House at dusk is one of those places. He makes the point by way of a question: “Is there anything more beautiful than a Waffle House at dusk?” In an assignment, one of my students responded to Arnade with a new-to-me quote from the late Anthony Bourdain that might or might not have made me tear up a little bit.

Bourdain said, “Is the Waffle House universally awesome? It is indeed, marvelous, an irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts; where everybody, regardless of race, creed, color, or degree of inebriation, is welcomed—its warm yellow glow a beacon of hope and salvation, inviting the hungry, the lost, the seriously hammered all across the South to come inside. A place of safety and nourishment. It never closes, it is always faithful, always there for you.”

That’s not just a love letter to breakfast food and laminated menus with sticky syrup spots, you know, the kind that retain the fine lines of finger prints. That, my friends, is a philosophy of life. And, in a sense, that’s what comedy should be, too. Faithful. Welcoming. A beacon. Something you can count on 24/7. Hashbrowns with a side of absurdity.

This post is part of my “Comedy Mindhacks” series, and here’s today’s mindhack: comedy, like Waffle House, only works if you step inside. As a partaker of comedy, I need to remember that. But as a comedian, I need to remember it, too. What I’m getting at is this: comedy is not for drive-bys or drive thrus. You don’t get the magic by circling the parking lot with your arms folded. You’ve got to go in. Sit down. Risk the smell of cigarette smoke, food poisoning, or a bruised ego. If you want to laugh, that’s the risk you take. That’s the deal.

I’ve been writing weekly fake news satire pieces for a while now on this site and I also share them on various social platforms. I’ve noticed a pattern recently: when leftists read something they don’t like, instead of laughing or pushing back with a joke of their own, instead of leaning into the joke, they throw tantrums. Full-blown adult-sized hissy fits. The online equivalent of flipping a Cybertruck or lighting a Tesla shop on fire. And when they just can’t handle it, their go-to move is to declare, with all the poise of a toddler denied a juice box and stomping his feet, “You’re not funny!”

It’s as pathetic as it is hilarious. But I’m going to share a little comedy secret: I don’t write jokes for other people. I don’t write what others might think is funny. Honestly, I don’t care. Same with satire posts: I don’t write for others. I write something because I think it’s funny. And I trust that enough. Do I want people to laugh? Sure! But writing anything, much less a joke, for others, is futile. Do that and you’ll end up frustrated rather than laughing.

So no, I don’t write jokes hoping for universal approval like it’s a Hallmark movie about Christmas in Vermont. I write what cracks me up, and then I throw it out there like a kid tossing a snowball. If it hits you, great. If it doesn’t, I’m still lobbing snowballs. And so, here’s a related or adjacent truth I cling to when it comes to comedy: I’ll never apologize to someone who’s throwing a tantrum because I’m not catering to their sense of humor.

Humor is, in many ways, subjective (though I would say there’s “some” objectivity involved). And that’s why one guy laughs at a banana peel mishap and another guy sues the grocery store. That’s why one person can hear a joke about ethnic stereotypes and laugh while another files a complaint. That’s why one person can find humor in the world’s gravest tragedies but it’s always “too soon” for someone else. That’s why one person hears a joke about their political hero and chuckles, and another person hears the same joke and writes a 2,000-word Facebook comment calling for the citation of primary and secondary sources to prove the joke.

Here’s the deal: comedy isn’t about being right. It’s about being real. It is, for me anyway, about seeing messed-up things and realizing: this is material and I’d rather laugh about it than be outraged by it! Fact: if you’re only willing to laugh when it’s your side being flattered, you’re not being real. You’re simply being biased. This is why I, as a conservative, can make jokes about both liberals and conservatives alike. And I do. And it’s also why I can laugh at jokes others make about us conservatives.

Comedy mocks, it pokes, it prods, it questions, it provokes, it challenges. But it only does so if you step into it. Otherwise, all it’ll do is leave you butthurt and offended. When it comes to jokes, you’ve got to show up and say, “Okay, I might get my feelings bruised, but let’s see where this goes.” That’s when the magic happens.

The beauty of comedy is that it requires vulnerability. And, just like the Waffle House, you’ve got to walk in. So, if you’re mad because someone wrote a joke that didn’t praise your politics or match your worldview like a curated Instagram feed, maybe ask yourself if you’re really stepping into the moment. Maybe you’re the guy or gal sulking in the parking lot while the rest of us are inside, laughing so hard our coffee comes out of our nose. And if you’re a comedian, you’ve got to be willing to be so real that, when you share something you think is funny with others, if it doesn’t land with them, it doesn’t matter. Because that’s on them, not you.

So, there might not be anything more beautiful than a Waffle House at dusk. But a room or thread full of people who disagree on just about everything except the punchline? That’s pretty close.